


Indicia

by dreamlittleyo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blasphemy, Blow Jobs, Community: sammessiah, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Sibling Incest, Wincest - Freeform, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Wordcount: 100-2.000, Wordcount: Over 1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-09
Updated: 2011-04-09
Packaged: 2017-10-17 19:27:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rosary bondage.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Indicia

Not long after they leave Cicero, Sam starts to change. It's a gradual shift, and Dean keeps close, careful vigil, but hell if he can tell where it's going. The visions stay gone, but other abilities creep in, asserting themselves at unexpected moments. Dean has seen Sam use that _voice_ , the one that commands instant, unnatural obedience, and he's not even sure Sam realizes he's doing it.

He isn't scared of Sam. Never has been, and that's not going to change. Not when he can see continuing fear in Sam's eyes, a familiar terror that he'll become something he's not. No, Dean isn't scared of his little brother. But he's starting to be terrified _for_ him. He's seen Sam kill more than just Jake, now, and he's seen the shuttered looks that say Sam isn't telling him things. There's something more going on, something Sam isn't saying, and Dean will give it another week before he starts making demands.

But it's not just Sam's abilities beginning to shift. Since Cicero, Sam has started _looking_ at him differently. Hungrily. And of course it made Dean goddamn uncomfortable at first. Sam made every attempt to hide his scrutiny, but it still left Dean itching under his skin, still set him on uncertain edge. Not a revelation he was prepared to have about his baby brother. But that was months ago, and as Sam slowly gave up the pretense, Dean found discomfort giving way to other things. Wondering, considering, eventually _wanting_ things.

Now they're circling each other in a holding pattern, neither advancing. Dean is waiting for his brother to make a move, waiting for the heat to boil over and set Sam upon him. It feels inevitable, both of them aching with it every minute of every day, and it's only a matter of time.

But Sam seems stuck in an uncertain limbo. He's not hiding it anymore, not flinching away when their eyes lock with fire and hold too long. But he refuses to come any closer, and Dean is starting to go mad, his own impatience surprising him as the line grows constantly thinner. He can feel it grinding at him, the impending explosion, and he's almost ready to cross that line himself, because there's no other way for this to go and what the hell are they waiting for? It still sneaks up on him, sudden and unexpected, and maybe sick in more ways than he ever saw coming.

Lafayette, Indiana, they find a stretch of unholy ground circling an ancient tree. No mysterious deaths in the area, and they can't unearth any hints as to what caused the taint in the first place. There's no hunt here that they can find, just a wide circle where something evil once touched. They could leave it alone, disappear quietly and play just a little bit dumb. But wounds to the cosmic order tend to fester, so a consecration ritual is on their agenda before they leave town.

They already have everything they need, but stop back at the hotel to consolidate anyway. The tree is placed a little too publicly for them to set up on site, which leaves them collecting what they need and planning to return when both sun and people are gone.

"Better to do it at night anyway," Dean says as he parks in front of their room. "Ambiance."

"Dude," says Sam, throwing an exasperated look at him over the roof of the car. "You don't need ambiance for a ritual of sanctification."

"Well _no_ ," Dean concedes. Throws the door open and steps over the threshold, dumping the duffel of necessary equipment on his bed. "But it's cooler." He can practically hear his brother's eye-roll and deliberately refrains from looking up to acknowledge it, setting straight in to the task of sorting out their gear.

When he finds the rosary he stops, considers it for a moment. Strictly speaking they don't need it. Not for this ritual, a ceremony that calls for all kinds of purifiers and holy symbols but no beads, thank you very much. But it can't hurt, might help, and he absently tangles it between his fingers, wrapping the string of beads around his hand. "What do you think, Sam?" he asks, letting his thumb slide back and forth over wood that's long since worn smooth.

The lack of response is strange enough to draw his eyes up from their study, and he finds Sam standing closer than he realized, not just silent but frozen. Watching Dean with a dumbstruck expression, mouth barely open and pupils dilated, and it takes Dean almost a full minute to decipher that look. Sam is turned on, eyes _burning_ with want, and Dean's got no idea why now, why here, why his brother looks ready to spontaneously combust when two seconds ago he was calmly mocking Dean in the parking lot.

His hand stills on the wooden beads, but his question chokes away when the pause coincides too closely with Sam dragging in a sudden, shaky breath. Realization doesn't hit him outright, too close to absurd, but he gives it a beat and has to test it anyway, thumb resuming its subtle slip of rhythm. Sam _whimpers_ this time, and _oh_. Dean knows his brother's got some random kinks but this? Seriously.

Dean can tell the second the world settles back in, tangible on Sam's shoulders, because his brother jerks and starts and raises his eyes guiltily to meet Dean's. They hold there, locked frozen with heat, and Dean knows this is it. He could let it go, give Sam shit for his new blasphemous fetish, look away and play dumb, _anything_ , but he knows he won't. This is the moment, the one they've been building to, and if he doesn't do something about it now it's going to tear them apart.

"Dean," Sam whispers, and the moment shatters like breakaway glass, swallowing them whole.

Dean is there in an instant, feels the beads bite into his palm as he drags Sam down against him and negates every centimeter of space between. Sam's arms engulf him, hands enormous and eager and holding him close, and Dean parts his lips in open invitation, groaning his approval when Sam's tongue slips inside, sudden and sure. Sam tastes like the pizza they just ate. Dean doesn't care.

Somehow they reach one of the beds and collapse onto it without either of them taking an elbow or a knee somewhere unpleasant. Dean maneuvers the fall so that Sam lands on his back, not quite against the pillows but close. Sam's hips are snug between his thighs, denim against denim and the unmistakable evidence that Sam is really goddamn into this, as if either of them needed the reassurance. The pressure of Sam's erection burns hot between his legs, and Dean dives in hard for another kiss.

Sam lets Dean take the lead this time, arches into him and opens eagerly when Dean's tongue hints at the seam of his lips. He kisses Sam deeply, but that's not all this is, not when his hands close over his brother's wrists and guide them up and together on the pillows, pin them there above Sam's head.

Dean draws back, suddenly cautious. He doesn't open his eyes until there's enough space between them, and his gaze finds and locks immediately with Sam's. He feels the flex of wrists against his fingers. Not an attempt at escape, but a test, and Sam's teeth dent into his own lower lip. ' _Please_ ,' that look says, and, 'God, Dean, _now_ ,' and Dean couldn't deny Sam if he wanted to. Which he doesn't, not a chance in hell, and he draws in a slow, shaky breath.

It's quick work unraveling the rosary from his own hand and binding it around Sam's wrists. He holds Sam's gaze the whole time, forging the knots by touch, the hitch of Sam's breath echoing ragged in the air between them. It might be too tight, he can't tell, but Sam isn't complaining.

Dean's hands slide away, slow and deliberate, and Sam holds there, face flushed as he gently tests the bonds. Dean knows they won't hold if Sam exerts any actual strain, and he wonders, fleetingly, if they're going to make it through intact. But then, come to think of it, he's not sure it's the _beads_ he's concerned about.

But they're well past worry now, so far in that there's no way to stop, and Dean slips down the bed and starts in on Sam's jeans. Unbuttons, unzips, takes Sam's cock in his hand. He finally has to break eye contact to focus on the more immediate task, but he can still feel the scorching weight of that stare as he parts his lips over the head of Sam's cock and draws him in.

Dean already knows he's good at this, knows it isn't just hubris as he ignores the nearly painful press of denim on his own erection and drags moan after breathy moan from his brother. He can feel the tension, the barely controlled strain of Sam's body beneath his hands. But there's no snap, no sound of scattering beads even when he opens to swallow Sam whole, drowning happily in the desperate gasps that tear free of Sam's throat.

He raises his eyes, mouth full of cock and hands on Sam's hips, and isn't surprised to find his brother staring down at him. Sam's irises are eclipsed by wide-blown pupils, and Dean only glimpses them for a moment before giving a deliberate swallow. Sam throws his head back, eyes closing on a throaty groan that swells to fill the room and sounds deceptively like Dean's name.

Slow to come down from his orgasm, Sam urges Dean back up the bed, reaches for him with hands still tightly bound. His fingers clutch at Dean's collar and drag him down to lie at Sam's side, Sam's whole body rolling to meet him and suddenly they're kissing like it's instinct, like there's nothing else in the world that can touch them.

When Sam growls, "I want to touch you," into his mouth, Dean just kisses him harder. He reaches up with both hands, undoing the twisting knot of rosary by feel as his tongue licks deeper into Sam's mouth. He drops the beads off to the side somewhere, doesn't give half a shit where they land, and cares even less once Sam releases his grasp at Dean's collar and slides his hands down the length of his body, slow and certain.

Sam makes efficient work of the three buttons and tight, restraining denim, and Dean finally has to drag his way free from the kiss to breathe when Sam's huge palm closes around his dick and starts jacking him off, hot and hurried. He touches his other hand to Dean's mouth, and Dean sucks the offered fingers on instinct. And oh, _oh_ , realization is a second behind as the hand withdraws and skates down his back, past the line of his jeans, and one of those fingers presses inside.

Sam's other hand is still sliding fast along his cock, a perfect, furious pace that leaves Dean gasping. He arches into the touch, all inarticulate curses that shatter to sudden silence when a second finger joins the first, both long and sure and finding just that spot with each knowing twist. When Dean comes, ' _Sammy_ ' burns silent on his lips, and it might not be _the_ best orgasm he's ever had, but it's god damn close.

It's not until later, both of them cleaned up and 'tucked away', that Dean notices something more worrisome. They've got maybe two hours until they need to head back out into the night, and Sam is being a total woman. Clinging and snuggling and not letting him get up to take a leak. Dean is resigned, letting Sam lie spooned up behind him with arms wrapping him close. He's maybe even enjoying it a little, though pain of death won't have him admitting it out loud, and he interlocks his fingers with Sam's, both hands, brings them up to his lips.

His breath catches terrified in his throat when he sees the marred flesh of Sam's wrists. The marks aren't bruises, aren't just dents left by too tight a knot. They're red and raw and _burned_ , and Dean's eyes cast about unsuccessfully for the holy relic he dropped.

Sam's skin is singed with the unmistakable pattern of beads, and Dean just draws a shaky breath and holds his brother close. They'll figure it out tomorrow.

Tonight they've got work to do.


End file.
